


Mickey Mouse Fucking Dies At The Hands Of The Coronavirus

by Maxwell_V



Category: Disney - Fandom, Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel, mickey mouse - Fandom
Genre: Apocalypse, COVID, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Disease, F/M, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Sickness, kung flu, wuhan virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxwell_V/pseuds/Maxwell_V
Summary: or "Don't Cry For Me, Orlando"
Relationships: Mickey Mouse & Pepper Potts
Kudos: 9





	Mickey Mouse Fucking Dies At The Hands Of The Coronavirus

A gentle tapping of finely gloved hands against a glass desk echoes against undressed walls as Micholas Mouse looks over his domain. What, at first, sounds as fine and fragile as ceramic echoes from wall to wall until it resembles the hard clacking of leather soles against hardwood. Or was someone actually approaching his desk? It was becoming harder and harder for Mickey to tell these days. He was getting old. This couldn't happen soon enough.

"Mr. Mouse?" rang out the sweet, crisp voice of his trusted secretary, Mrs. Potts. Looking into her eyes, Mickey saw the same ever-deepening lines that he began to see in the mirror every morning.

"Pepper. Ha-ha. You shouldn't be here, y'know."

"I told you, sir, I can run Goop and work for you just fine. I'm an excellent time manager."

"That's not what I mean, Pepper." Mickey said, his voice taking a grim tone

Pepper Potts became deeply silent. Pepper had known this game of his for far too long to find it funny. Mickey's sterner tone would reveal itself in moments of distress, moments when Mickey was forced to reflect on what must be done. A moment later, his famous smile would return to him and he'd change the subject. Each time, especially in the last year, it took longer and longer for him to drop what he called an act and it felt more and more transparent every day.

What felt like a full minute later, Mickey's smile did, eventually, return.

"I got your candle, Pepper."

For the first time, Mrs. Potts did not return the smile. Mickey knew his time was up.

"Do you… ha-ha, do you remember, Pepper?" Mickey was using her name a lot today. For how eloquent Micholas was, this was akin to a stammer or a loss of self. "Do you remember that day?"

"Like it was yesterday, Mickey."

"It feels like yesterday, doesn't it? It feels like a week ago at most, ha-ha. Gosh."

"Tell me the story again, Mickey."

"Of course, Pepper."

Mickey moved to shut the curtains behind him. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't turn a blind eye to the chaos of the outside world. He couldn't rid himself of the responsibility that welled up in his heart when he heard even the most distant attack of a coronadaemon, and the accompanying screams that it brought.

Mickey turned himself back around, light still blaring against his backside. He sat, slowly.

"Old Jiminy Cricket came back from one of his adventures. To the future… this time. It wasn't often that ol' Jim went where he hadn't been before, ha-ha. This time he went a little far. Decided you and I were the best people to tell about the coronavirus. I remember, we were working on Treasure Planet then…"

Mickey exhaled, long and deeply. 

"Don't torture yourself, Micholas." Pepper reminded him.

"I'm not. Ever since that day, when he told us about the coming of the Grand Coronadaemon, I've spent a lifetime of hard decisions. You remember what we did when we found out, Pepper?"

"Tell me again."

"We, ha-ha, we decided that if we were going to be the heroes we told stories about, it wasn't going to be fun and it wasn't going to be glamorous."

Mickey stood up again, pouring himself a glass of scotch, served with ice from a melting ice bucket.

"No more making art, we said. We had our chance. Now was the time to do something important. We had to prepare art for the coming storm… if it was ever going to survive."

Pepper looked at the floor solemnly. "Jiminy said that humanity would survive this mess, Mickey."

"But we didn't know if its art would, Pepper. So we decided to be art's protectors. To gather it all into one place, a fortress of steel and solitude and more money than had ever been gathered in the world. And do you know why, Pepper?"

Mickey sighed again. "Because old man Walt's company was never going to make it. Not through this. Not you. Not me. If he couldn't do it, then who could? Warner Brothers? Don't make me laugh. And now it's just about time. We've held out through the first six years of the coronavirus. If Cricket's correct, with zero income, Disney should fall right as the exponential arrival of the coronalords cuts out. We did it, Pepper."

"We did?"

"We did it. By appealing to the lowest common demoninator, by crushing heart after heart and turning art into a commodity… we gave our legacy every resource it needed to be safe and return to the hands of the people, instead of being scattered to the winds in the unprepared hands of Fox and Sony. God, ha-ha, Sony didn't even make it a year into this mess! Imagine if we hadn't helped them as much as we did! And where would their IPs be now, Pepper?"

"I don't know, Mickey… but couldn't we have-"

"No, Pepper. It had to be garbage. Every last film. We didn't just need money, Pepper, we needed every last dime we could get our hands on. Every Moana and Ant-Man and all of those insipid remakes… no one could be allowed to miss them when they're gone. I've explained this to you before, Pepper."

"You're right, Mickey. I know. I just wish-"

Pepper's voice was interrupted by the increasingly garbled voice of Mickey's security intercom.

"Sir! Mr. Mouse! A coronataur is climbing the walls to your office! You've got to get out of there!"

"You betcha." Mickey spoke into the intercom, not moving an inch.

"Mickey?"

"You'd better get out of here, Pepper. Get somewhere safe. Protect Goop. When this all blows over, you need to get medicine to every last man, woman and child in the wake of this nightmare. And you've got to do it Goop style."

"What are you going to do, Mickey?"

"When I'm gone, our stock prices are going to plummet. That's okay. We don't need the shareholders anymore. Just focus on your medicine."

"…Sir…"

"Go, Pepper! The world… still needs you."

Pepper Potts walked around to the other side of Mickey's desk. Mickey and Pepper stared longingly into each other's eyes. "If only we could have had more time." Pepper spoke softly.

"It wasn't our destiny, my love. Ha-ha."

One last kiss. Pepper Potts' human lips pressed awkwardly but sweetly against Mickey's large mouse lips. In an embrace that came just shy of holding a lifetime's worth of desires, regrets and missed moments, Pepper Potts and Mickey Mouse kissed each other one last time.

"Goodbye, Mickey."

"Goodbye, darling."

Once again, the clacking of shoes against hardwood. Or was that the sound of coronataur feet scaling the building? Did it really matter? Mickey guessed not. Mickey would soon be feeling the strange fingered hoofs of the coronataur squeezing against his neck.

But the art would be okay.

The coronataur would grab at the broken glass with its many arms and rip Mickey Mouse to shreds.

But Snow White would survive.

The coronataur gripped Mickey Mouse by the jaw, ripping and ripping until Mickey Mouse felt air beneath the skin on the back of his head.

But Mulan would see the sun another day. Aladdin and the Lion King. Beauty And The Beast.

Mickey Mouse felt his life slip away at the hands of the coronavirus. The brown, dusty, setting sun was the last thing he saw.

But the art survived.


End file.
